


Rules

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [17]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: 24/7 Relationship, Cock Rings, Comfort/Angst, Dom/sub, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: When Mitch finally comes home, he’s carrying Starbucks—just for himself, Scott notices—and the large purse he’s been favoring lately. He drops the purse on the counter and throws himself onto a barstool with a sigh.“Long day?” Scott asks. “How was the shoot?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> KINKtober Day 13: Master/slave (warning for jealousy issues; also, this is a sequel to [Click](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8244191), so please read that one first to understand what's going on here!)

When Mitch finally comes home, he’s carrying Starbucks—just for himself, Scott notices—and the large purse he’s been favoring lately. He drops the purse on the counter and throws himself onto a barstool with a sigh.

“Long day?” Scott asks. “How was the shoot?”

“It was good,” Mitch replies. His voice is clipped and he sucks down the last of his drink until the straw makes obnoxious empty sounds. He keeps sucking, like he can’t even hear it, or maybe like he’s making that noise on purpose. Scott narrows his eyes and pushes himself up off the couch to see what’s going on with him.

“Was this with Luke?”

“No, somebody new,” Mitch says. “Photographer I follow on Instagram.”

Scott waits, but Mitch doesn’t offer a name. Scott raises his eyebrows, prompting him to continue.

Eventually Mitch gets uncomfortable with Scott’s stare and he shrugs. “You don’t know him.”

“Why are you being like this?” Scott asks. He steps back to take in Mitch’s appearance: no makeup that he can see, comfortable lounge pants and a baggy sweatshirt. Nothing seems out of place except Mitch’s attitude.

“I’m not being like anything!” Mitch replies. He’s genuinely affronted by the implication of bad behavior, which is interesting, because when he breaks rules intentionally he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s angling for a punishment.

Scott glances past Mitch at the bag on the counter. What catches his eye is the familiar rim of the leather neck corset sticking out, too big to fit in the purse. Scott snatches it up and stretches it open, the buckles and straps clinking softly where they hang.

“Why do you have this?” he asks stiffly. Mitch has only worn it for him twice; it’s neither of their favorites.

Mitch shrugs again. He’s looking more and more like an obstinate child, offering vague excuses to avoid punishment. “I don’t know, I wanted to bring it.”

“You didn’t tell me this was a fucking… What was it, nudes?”

He shrugs _again_ and Scott has had enough. He grabs Mitch’s shoulders and spins him out of the chair, backs him up against the nearest wall. It’s easy to press him flat with his hands at Mitch’s shoulders and his thigh pinning Mitch’s hips. He growls, “Stay,” and waits for Mitch’s hurried nod before moving his hands.

He pushes up under Mitch’s sweatshirt, roughly stroking his palms up and down Mitch’s sides, across his chest, fingers dragging against his belly. Scott isn’t sure what he’s looking for, why he’s doing this, but he needs to feel, needs to know. Know what?

Evidence. He’s looking for evidence. The realization is like ice pouring into his veins. He shoves one hand into Mitch’s sweatpants and—

“What the hell is this?” he asks as his fingers trace the familiar straps of Mitch’s favorite cock ring. Mitch’s cock is thick and heavy with arousal, but he’s not fully hard. Scott wants to tear his clothes off. He needs to see.

Mitch’s eyes are closed. “I didn’t break the rules,” he whispers.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t break the rules.”

“ _Look at me_.”

It takes Mitch a couple of blinks for his gaze to focus on Scott. He holds steady and says again, “I didn’t break the rules, Sir.”

He doesn’t pull out the honorific very often, certainly not as often as Scott would like, and it’s hard not to read something into it now. It feels like Mitch is trying to make up for something, and that thought is terrifying. Scott takes a deep breath and forces his body to move back, stop crowding Mitch against the wall.

“Explain,” he orders through gritted teeth.

“This guy, the photographer. I don’t really know him.”

“Not helping your case,” Scott cuts in.

“I follow him. I like his work. I messaged him and set up this shoot. It was a couple hours, we did it, I left, I ran some errands, I came home. That’s it.”

Scott’s stomach twists painfully. He’s honestly and truly worried he’s about to be sick. “You wore the collar for him?” he asks.

“Not for him,” Mitch insists.

“Mitch, stop.”

Mitch takes a quick, quiet breath. “I’m not doing anything,” he whispers. “I didn’t do anything.”

Scott closes his eyes. This is not good. This is not healthy or right, and he can’t be in charge when he’s like this. He can’t think about anything but some faceless man leering at Mitch, touching him, commanding him. He rubs his face with both hands, trying to clear the images from his mind.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks. His voice sounds small to his own ears, betraying the hurt and the jealousy and the shameful, childish possessiveness.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You know I’d react like this,” Scott insists. “You know I can’t… I can’t handle this. The thought of you… submitting—”

“I didn’t submit to him,” Mitch cuts in quickly. “I mean… It wasn’t like how it is with you. I just wore the collar and the ring and he took some pictures. That was it.”

“You were hard,” Scott says. “You were bound, somehow, weren’t you? He was ordering you around. Don’t deny it. Did you come?”

“I didn’t break the rules, Sir—Scott, please, listen to me. I didn’t know you’d react like this. I didn’t do it on purpose, you have to believe me. You know me better than that. You trust me.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Scott’s past the point of caring that he sounds like a petulant, whiny child. He’s never felt less in control than he does right now. Mitch doesn’t deserve to witness this emotional meltdown.

“I didn’t know you’d be this upset,” Mitch whispers. “Scott, please trust me when I say it was nothing. It was a photoshoot, baby. I do them all the time.”

Scott gives him a watery smile. “I wish I wasn’t like this,” he says. “I wish I wasn’t so fucking jealous.”

Mitch moves forward—finally disobeying Scott’s command to stay put against the wall—and wraps his arms around Scott’s neck. He pulls Scott down into a tight, comforting hug and they rock together for a moment, breathing as one until Scott regains his sense of self. The familiar calmness of control slowly settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

He hears Mitch licking his lips, preparing to speak. “What if… next time… you came with me?”

“Next time?” Scott asks.

Mitch pulls back and meets Scott’s eyes. His face is serene, glowing with simple adoration, Scott feels steadier at the sight. “If you allow it,” Mitch replies.

It’s well within Scott’s rights to refuse, but feeding into this jealousy is the last thing he wants. Besides, he trusts Mitch, and he knows how much Mitch enjoys modeling. He can’t possibly forbid Mitch this hobby. Scott squares his shoulders and nods. “New rule,” he says. “We discuss your shoots before they happen, not after.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if you come home keyed up like this again…” Scott doesn’t want to think of an appropriate punishment. He lets the threat trail off, leaving it up to Mitch’s impressive imagination.

He understands with sudden clarity why Mitch was so ill-mannered and short with him earlier. The photoshoot clearly aroused him, but Mitch didn’t allow himself to come, not without Scott’s permission. Scott’s instinctive surge of pride wars with the equally intense thrill of ownership.

He chuckles and says, “If I didn’t think it would make you even more of a brat, I’d say you’re not allowed to come, but that would just backfire on me, huh? You had to sit in traffic, didn’t you… Hard and aching. But you were good for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry if I was being a brat.”

“For once you didn’t mean to be?”

“For once.”

As much as Scott wants to bend Mitch over his lap and smack his ass until his hand is sore, Mitch hasn’t broken any rules, and Scott feels weird about punishing Mitch for Scott’s own issues and insecurities. Tonight needs to be about their relationship, about the trust and the love they have for each other. Mitch is probably desperate to come after a photoshoot that was surely one long tease, so Scott decides to embrace that, draw it out just a little bit more, make the tease his own before giving Mitch the relief he needs.

“Go upstairs and take off your clothes,” he says. “Leave the cock ring. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

Mitch nods and scampers away, tangibly lighter on his feet and brimming with excitement now that the dust has settled. Scott allows himself a moment to breathe and calm his nerves. He reaches for the collar, stretches it between his hands.

Bringing it into their play tonight would just prolong the awkwardness, make it about Scott’s issues with the photoshoot. He wants to see the collar on Mitch, wants to recreate whatever Mitch did for some other man, but that will have to wait. He folds the collar again and tucks it carefully back into Mitch’s bag, just as it was before.

They don’t need a collar tonight; they especially don’t need that one. Scott plans to stake his claim in other ways.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
